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Die!die!die! - Self Titled




It's Saturday evening and my friends have people to do and things to do - so I have some alone time. I've ignored a the work I am meant to be doing and instead poured myself a scotch (neat, no ice) rolled myself a cigarette and hit play on the current love of my life. Die! Die! Die!

  
  

When I arrived in the fabled land (I'm from the apple isle and proud) - that city that has seen my demise into 20-50 cigarettes and day and an increasingly worrying addiction to gin - I have seen a lot of bands that have raised the heart-rate. Not least of all the band in question.

  
  

At The Stage (a venue) about a year ago they jumped the boards and accosted them to within an inch of their plank-life imaginary lives. Several drinks and a few busted ear drums later I was sold. Ready to adopt the trio - in a Russel Crow/Crowded House/Same Neil sorta way - as my own.

  
  

Now the long awaited album.

  
  

As I dance around my room in my underwear - scotched now well and truly downed and onto my absent flat mates cask wine - it's hard to describe why this album is the best fucking album like - in a long time. But imagine that might just about do it.

  
  

And I mean, fist pumping, dance inducing, sweat profusely collapse on the bed and wank along fucking great.

  
  

The band play their instruments like they're holding on for dear life, the bass chugs away pushing the sound into the twilight zone suspended somewhere outside of any musical reality - and the drums - oh the drums.

  
  

You're lead into the self titled release with 1 minutes beautiful atmosphere, like being strapped into an amusement park ride and waved off by your younger sibling, then just as you start to think to yourself "oh this is quite nice actually" BAM! you're pounded glorious oblivion - the screech - the noise - and oh those RIFFS! It seems they have that special NZ touch with noise, a real unpretentious conviction when they play.

  
  

Every track is another fist pump, every screeching note another cheesy grin from the listener. I've refrained from calling this release an "orgasm of the gods" for fear of exaggeration, but this 30 degree heat is sending me a little balmy.

  
  

There's ink on my fingers and a cramp in my hand, so if you'll excuse me I'm going to pour another glass.

  
  

SeJust think of it this way - you have lived if you haven't heard this record and you don't deserve to if you don't make the effort.

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